Time it was …

Time it was …


Old friends, old friends
Sat on their park bench like bookends
A newspaper blown through the grass
Falls on the round toes
Of the high shoes of the old friends

old men.01

Photo Credit

I loved to sit in the park and watch the old men play chess. I would study their faces, faces looking like nature had taken a pallet knife to well-worn leather.

It was foreign to me, a skinny kid with no past to speak of yet. Sometimes they would take a break and sit with me, tell me stories of great adventures, of greater tragedy. Tell me of their courageous voyages across oceans or of their losses, a wife gone, a child taken too soon.

An old man once told me that we come to a time in our life when we look back more often than we look forward. When time becomes short and the future is no longer…

View original post 555 more words

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.